The dawn of the seventh day did not bring the soft, golden light of peace to Winston. Instead, the atmosphere over the city curdled into something thick and heavy, charged with a static tension that made the hair on the back of the neck stand up.
Inside Khan's smithy, the contrast between the two masters had reached its absolute chaos.
Grid stood panting over his [Sword of Burning Resentment]. His face was a mask of jagged triumphs, underscored by the deep, dark bags of a man who had not slept for a week.
He had touched the realm of the Unique through sheer, unadulterated malice, channeling his envy into the steel until it bled. He felt like he had climbed a mountain of glass and finally reached the peak.
But Arthur was not finished.
Arthur stood at the center of the forge, his breathing slow and rhythmic. Before him, laid out on a velvet-lined rack, were two of his previously completed works for the commission.
They were masterpieces of efficiency and balance—blades that any high-ranking knight in the Saharan Empire would trade a manor for.
[Vanguard Longsword]
Rating: Epic
Attack Power: 306 | Attack Speed: +3% | Accuracy: +5%
* Special Effect: +200 additional damage during each attack.
* User Restriction: Level 160+, 950 Strength, Advanced Sword Mastery Level 2.
"These are your Epics?" Grid asked, his voice rasping like sandpaper. "Hmph. They're fine. Technically perfect. But they don't have the... the edge of my resentment. They're just very good tools."
"You're right," Arthur replied. He didn't look at Grid; his red eyes were fixed on the primary furnace, glowing with an eerie, focused light that seemed to mirror the white-hot coals.
"They are merely tools. I made them as practice. But for the final sword... I decided I wanted to make some 'noise.' I want to see exactly where the ceiling of this 'Unique' class is."
Arthur reached into the storage bin and pulled out a chunk of Black Iron. It was a dense, stubborn ore, far more difficult to refine than the standard steel they had been using.
To most smiths, Black Iron was a mid-tier material, capable of reaching Epic rank only with extreme luck.
He didn't start hammering immediately. Arthur stood before the anvil, closing his eyes. He tapped into the same mental state Grid had pioneered—the absolute, unwavering focus of a craftsman.
But where Grid used the poison of resentment, Arthur channeled the fire of Determination.
He remembered the people of Winston. He remembered the desperate, hollow look in Administrator Vladi's eyes when he spoke of the dying knights.
He thought about the front lines, where men were currently being dissolved by the dark mana of the Yatan Church.
He didn't want to make a sword to get rich, and he didn't want to make a sword to outshine Grid. He wanted to make a sword that would not break.
For weeks, Arthur had suppressed his own potential. He knew the hidden mechanics of the system: the first five Legendary items produced by a player granted massive, permanent stat bonuses after that the bonus will fall at the dirt.
He had been holding back by working with common Black Iron. He wants to farm at least 2000 stat before he let go and make legendary items for himself and others.
But as he raised his hammer, Arthur felt the restraints snap. The logic of the "perfect build" evaporated, replaced by the immediate, crushing need of the people he had sworn to protect as the Successor of Winston. He let his 214 Good Luck stat run wild. He stopped calculating... and started willing.
Ttang!
The first strike was not a sound; it was an event. The shockwave through the smithy was so violent it extinguished every candle and mana lamp in the room, plunging the forge into a darkness lit only by the glowing metal.
Ttang! Ttang! Ttang!
Arthur's movements were no longer human. He had become a blur of silver and red, his hammer vibrating at a frequency that resonated with the very fabric of the game world. The Black Iron began to glow with a brilliant, blinding white light that defied the laws of metallurgy. It wasn't melting; it was transmuting.
Outside, the citizens of Winston stopped in their tracks. The morning sky suddenly curdled into a dark, swirling vortex of bruised purple and charcoal clouds. Thunder rumbled, not from the distance, but from directly overhead—the sound of a god's footfalls.
"What is happening?!" Steng shouted, shielding his eyes from the sparks that flew off Arthur's anvil like miniature stars.
"The world..." Khan whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and awe. "The world is reacting to a birth! A Legend is being hammered into existence!"
A literal bolt of lightning tore through the roof of the smithy. It didn't start a fire; it was drawn, as if by a magnet, directly into the blade Arthur was holding with his bare hands. The discharge of pure mana threw Grid and Steng against the back wall.
When the light finally faded, the smithy was deathly silent. Arthur stood at the anvil, steam rising from his skin in thick plumes. He was holding a blade that didn't look like it was made of iron. It looked like it was forged from captured lightning and solidified resolve.
[Sword of Determination]
Rating: Legendary
Durability: 365/365 | Attack Power: 456 ~ 489
Attributes: Attack Speed +8%, Accuracy +10%, Attack/Defense Rate +10%.
Special Effects:
* +500 additional damage during each attack.
* High chance to achieve 2 Joint attacks.
* Skill: [Indomitable Will] - For 30 seconds, the user cannot be stunned, knocked back, or killed. (Cooldown: 24 hours).
* Description: A sword made by a craftsman who was determined to help the knights of Winston. His determination has completed a sword that has never existed in this world before.
* User Restriction: Level 180+, 950 Strength, Advanced Sword Mastery Level 4.
A torrential flood of notifications drowned Arthur's vision.
[You have created a Legendary weapon!]
[The first Legendary item has been produced. All stats have permanently increased by +100!]
[Reputation across the Continent has increased by 10,000!]
But the final notification was the one that changed everything.
[Your Hidden Class: 'Pagma's Apprentice' (Unique) has been full to be upgraded.]
[Class Upgrade: You have successfully evolved into 'Pagma's Successor' (Legendary)!]
Arthur felt a surge of raw, primordial power flood his veins. The "Apprentice" Class, which had sat at 92% progress for so long, finally shattered. He had bypassed the traditional leveling route to a Legend by performing an act of legendary creation.
[You have acquired 'Legendary Blacksmith's Creation' Skill.]
[You have acquired 'Legendary Blacksmith's Appraisal' Skill.]
[You have acquired 'Legendary Blacksmith's Breath' Skill.]
[You have acquired 'Legendary Blacksmith's Patience' Skill.]
A world-wide message flared across the sky of every player in Satisfy: [A new Legendary Blacksmith has been born!]
The player base was thrown into immediate chaos. Months ago, a similar message had appeared when Grid become a Legendary Blacksmith. Now, a second monster had appeared.
Grid stared at the notification window floating in the air before Arthur. His jaw was so wide open it looked like it might unhinge. A Legendary item.
Created from mid-tier Black Iron. Created by the man he had been calling "Apprentice" just an hour ago.
"Legendary..." Grid's voice was a tiny, broken squeak. "You made a Legendary sword... while I was happy with a Unique... You even got my class..."
The jealousy that hit Grid was not a slow burn; it was a volcanic eruption. He felt like his heart had been put through a meat grinder. The sheer, astronomical unfairness of Arthur's luck and talent reached a point where Grid's brain simply short-circuited.
"DEVELOPERS!" Grid screamed, turning on his heel and sprinting out of the smithy.
He didn't just curse them. He cursed Lim Cheolho's ancestors. He cursed the servers. He cursed the very concept of probability.
"WHY?!" Grid wailed, his voice echoing across the town square as he ran. "Why is he making Legendary items like he's making a sandwich?! I'm the one with the debt! I'm the protagonist of this tragedy!"
In a fit of absolute, uncontainable rage, Grid began to bang his head against the outer stone wall of the smithy.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
He hit the wall so hard his HP plummeted toward zero. Just as he was about to knock himself unconscious and escape into the sweet relief of a forced logout, a golden glow enveloped his body.
[A Legend doesn't die easily!]
[For 5 seconds, you can resist all damage!]
Grid froze, his forehead pressed against the cold stone. "Even my passive is mocking me," he whispered, tears of salt and frustration streaming down his face. "I try to knock myself out because the world is unfair, and the game refuses to let me stop feeling the pain. It's forcing me to stay awake and feeling jealous!"
Inside the smithy, Arthur exhaled a long, deep breath. He looked at his new sword—the [Sword of Determination]—then at the hole in the roof, and finally at the sound of Grid's muffled sobbing outside.
He felt a deep sense of calm. He hadn't just made a weapon; he had found his rhythm. He looked at Khan and Steng, who were still frozen in place.
"Perhaps," Arthur said, his voice resonant and steady, "we should tell the Administrator we have the miracle he asked for. And someone should probably tell Grid that his 'Immortality' is up in three seconds."
The world was about to learn a terrifying truth: Winston didn't just have one legendary blacksmith anymore. It had a duo of monsters—one who forged with the heat of Malice, and one who forged with the light of God-tier Luck and Indomitable Will.
Arthur sheathed the glowing blade. Soon, the hunt for Pagma's Swordsmanship for Grid was no longer a dream.